hen the child was brought to St. Luke's for
examination. After the physician's opinion had been given, and
arrangements made for placing it in the Children's Ward, we went to see
William. The unexpected appearance of his brother-in-law, whom he had
not seen since coming to the hospital, affected him much. Indeed, the
interview was trying to both. I left them alone, and on my return
shortly afterward, found William still in tears. He was not so well
that morning, and grief for the child, and the sight of the brother
reviving the painful memory of their late alienation, was too much for
him; yet his peace was not greatly disturbed, for all alienation from
man, as from God, had been healed for him.

_The Tried Word._--I went to see the little child the next morning, and
then reported him to his uncle, whose first words were a question,
rather anxiously put, concerning the little one. Wishing to set his mind
at ease, I said:

"Oh, it is all well with him. I just met him coming down, stairs with a
flock of children, and his hands full of bread and butter."

He gave a smile of quiet amusement, which showed the playfulness of
other days might yet be touched. I then went on to tell him the case
was not likely to prove as serious as we had feared, and suggested he
should get the nurse, when convenient, to bring the child in her arms
to his bedside. He was pleased with the idea; but presently the
conversation fell off from the subject. William's eyes wandered to the
texts of the "Silent Comforter" at the foot of his bed. With the air of
one who caught the sight of unutterable things, and has not much more
to do with the world:

"See," said he, "I have a good verse for this morning." He began to
read: "Fear not, I am with thee."

Beginning to cough, I went on: "When thou walkest through the waters,
they shall not overflow thee; and through the fire, thou shalt not be
burned. That is just right for you, William."

"Yes," he replied, with his own peculiarly beautiful smile.

"I notice," said I, "that the very words of God are best for you. You
love the hymns, but, after all, God's own words are the safest to rest
upon."

"Yes," he replied, "I live upon those texts. When the nurse comes in,
in the morning, to turn the leaf over, _I am eager_."

I did not speak, but watched him as he lay, his longing eyes fixed upon
the words before him, with an absorbed and admiring gaze, as if all
else were forgotten. His soul was hanging